As they left Florence, dying men and women still scrabbled through the streets, screams emanating from the rows of houses, beggars running up to the horses, sick children in their arms, their eyes bleeding, their noses running, begging to join them in their journey out. What with these converging roofs that shut out all but a hand's breadth of the sky, sunshine was rare at this point. “His stipend forbade it,” she said, and seemed to fall into a train of thought.
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